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Me debunk an American myth?

And take my life in my hands?

Where the great plains begin,

at the hundredth meridian.

At the hundredth meridian,

where the great plains begin



Driving down a corduroy road,

weeds standing shoulder high

Ferris wheel is rusting off in the distance

At the hundredth meridian where the great plains begin



Left alone to get gigantic;

hard, huge and haunted

A generation so much dumber than it`s parents came

crashing through the window.

A raven strains along the line of the road,

carrying a muddy, old skull.

The wires whistle their approval,

off down the distance.

At the hundredth meridian where the great plains begin



I remember, I remember Buffalo and I remember Hengelo

It would seem to me I remember every

single fucking thing I know



If I die of vanity, promise me, promise me,

they bury me someplace I don`t want to be,

you`ll dig me up and transport me, unceremoniously,

away from the swollen city-breeze, garbage-bag trees,

whispers of disease and the acts of enormity

and lower me slowly, sadly and properly

Get Ry Cooder to sing my eulogy,

At the hundredth meridian where the great plains begin.

Me debunk an American myth?

And take my life in my hands?

Where the great plains begin,

at the hundredth meridian.

At the hundredth meridian,

where the great plains begin



Driving down a corduroy road,

weeds standing shoulder high

Ferris wheel is rusting off in the distance

At the hundredth meridian where the great plains begin



Left alone to get gigantic;

hard, huge and haunted

A generation so much dumber than it`s parents came

crashing through the window.

A raven strains along the line of the road,

carrying a muddy, old skull.

The wires whistle their approval,

off down the distance.

At the hundredth meridian where the great plains begin



I remember, I remember Buffalo and I remember Hengelo

It would seem to me I remember every

single fucking thing I know



If I die of vanity, promise me, promise me,

they bury me someplace I don`t want to be,

you`ll dig me up and transport me, unceremoniously,

away from the swollen city-breeze, garbage-bag trees,

whispers of disease and the acts of enormity

and lower me slowly, sadly and properly

Get Ry Cooder to sing my eulogy,

At the hundredth meridian where the great plains begin.

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